Dead Men Don't Crochet

by Betty Hechtman

  Since there was no group meeting this morning and Dinah didn’t have a class and I didn’t have to be at the bookstore until evening for Romance Night, we were having our own little crochet gathering. I took out my shawl in progress. Now that I wasn’t dropping stitches as often and needed to unravel less, the dusty rose rectangle was beginning to resemble a shawl.

  Dinah took out her forest green project. I was amazed how much she’d gotten done, especially with small children in the house.

  As soon as we started crocheting, Dinah brought up Sheila and the growing case against her.

  “We better hurry up with the other suspects,” Dinah said. “Sheila’s her own worst enemy. Now that they know to look for her fingerprints on the paperweight, they’ll probably try to get her to confess. I’ve seen what the cops do when they get you locked up in an interviewing room. They pretend to be your friend, like they’re going to help you if you just tell them what happened. Then they keep pushing, saying things like they know you were at the murder scene and they know you’re not telling them the whole story and maybe it was just an accident anyway. And the next thing you know, the person starts saying they did it.”

  “Where did you see that?” I said, surprised.

  “On TV, but it was a reality show,” Dinah said. “I’m just worried that Sheila could end up confessing to something she didn’t do.”

  “You’re right. I need to find somebody else for Detective Heather to fixate on.” The dogs ran in the house, and I shivered. “It’s kind of chilly out here.”

  Dinah agreed, and she gathered up her stuff, saying we were Southern California wimps. “What is it, maybe a bone-chilling sixty-seven degrees?”

  Inside, Dinah sat down at the kitchen table. I left my crocheting next to her and went to get a load of laundry, so it could be washing while I worked on my shawl. That was about as close as I got to multitasking.

  I carried the load to the laundry room that was just off the kitchen and dropped the pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine. We continued to talk, and I started to load the things in the washer, stopping to check pockets. I picked up a pair of khakis and pulled out one of the pockets. Two balled-up no-show socks tumbled out. When I did the same to the other pocket a white crumbled ball of fabric popped out and landed on the floor.

  “I recognize the socks,” I said, picking them up and putting them off to the side to be included in a load of whites. “But what’s this?” I leaned down to get a better look.

  Dinah got up from the table and came next to me.

  We both stared at the crumpled ball of fabric, and I got an ominous feeling.

  “Why don’t you pick it up?” she said, bending a little closer.

  Why don’t you pick it up?” I countered.

  “It was in your pocket, so you should pick it up.” She backed away and put her hands up.

  “All right,” I said finally and reached for it. I started to smooth it out, examining it as I did. There seemed to be a soft cotton center with a lot of lacy trim, but when I saw the red splotches on it, I dropped it like it was scalding.

  “Is that blood?” I said, making a face.

  Dinah bent over the half-crumpled ball. “There’s this stuff, phena something or other, that can tell you if it is.”

  “That’s great information, but unless you happen to have some in your purse, it’s not much help,” I said.

  “Sorry, I’m fresh out,” she said with a chuckle. “We could get a better look at it if it was completely flattened out.”

  “This must be what I picked up in Kevin’s office.” I explained how I’d seen something white under the desk and thought it was one of my no-show socks.

  “Didn’t you say you saw something white and lacy hanging off the drawer in Drew’s office when we found him in the soup?” Dinah pointed at the lacy edge. “Maybe it was this.”

  “Omigod!” I shrieked. “You could be right.” Then I thought for a second. “If it was, it wasn’t the whole thing. What I saw looked like a small part of something, as if it had caught on the drawer pull and ripped.” I knelt next to the white ball. “Let me see if part of this is missing.” I went to put my hand on it but pulled back. While I needed to spread it out, I didn’t want to touch it anymore.

  I got up and searched Samuel’s room for something he had as a kid. Thank heavens Samuel believed in hanging on to his stuff. The pinchy-winchy was stuck in the corner of his closet next to some old robot toys. It was a plastic claw from some cartoon show that came in handy for reaching things on high shelves. It also was perfect for picking up things you didn’t want to touch.

  I grabbed an edge of the white ball of fabric with the pinchy-winchy and shook it until it opened enough to be recognizable.

  “It’s a hanky,” Dinah said. She reached out to touch it and then reconsidered when her finger got near the red spots. “Though there doesn’t seem to be much space for nose blowing.”

  I laid it on the kitchen counter. The center was small and appeared to be made of thin, white cotton. Most of the handkerchief was comprised of the lacy edging. I checked for missing pieces in the edging, but found it was intact.

  “I guess that isn’t what you saw.”

  “No, but I bet it’s somehow connected. It seems too coincidental that there was a piece of something similar to it hanging off a drawer handle and this shows up under Mr. Ke—” I rolled my eyes. “Calling him Mr. Kevin sounds way too pretentious—under Kevin’s desk.”

  Dinah agreed. We both studied the edging, and I said I thought it was done with crochet like the doilies on Adele’s skirt.

  “It certainly looks different than the things we’ve been making with yarn.” Dinah took the pinchy-winchy and picked the hanky up by the corner, eyeing the filigree-like trim. “I can’t even see the stitches.”

  I told her about the steel hooks and thin thread I’d bought when I’d gone shopping with CeeCee for the material for the shawls. When Dinah set the hanky back on the counter, I examined the cotton center where the red splotches were. That’s I when I noticed there were some flecks of red stuff on the spots. “I don’t think it’s blood,” I said, pointing. “The flecks look like tomato skin. I bet it’s tomato bisque soup.”

  “Wow,” Dinah said. “Do you know what that means?”

  I didn’t mean to, but I squealed, “Omigod!” again. I knew exactly what it meant. Both the hanky and whatever had gotten caught on the drawer handle had both been in Drew’s office when he hit the soup. “It must be soup spatter,” I said, feeling a shiver. “And since it ended up in Kevin’s office, it kind of points the finger at him.”

  Dinah nodded yes, and I felt another shiver. “Maybe we should turn it in,” she said.

  “To who? Detective Heather? And how am I supposed to explain having it?”

  “You have a point there,” Dinah said, wincing. “She probably wouldn’t take it well if she knew we sneaked into Kevin’s office.”

  “I didn’t mean to pick it up, but as long as I did, it’s our clue. Though it might be better if we kept it on the down low.” I stopped to think for a moment. “What if there’s something else up in Kevin’s office—like that piece I saw hanging on Drew’s desk drawer?”

  Dinah knew where I was headed. “We’ve got one good clue. That should be enough.”

  “But there could be more. We already know somebody in black slacks went up there, too. I’m going back there now before anybody else has a chance to look.” Dinah said she saw my point and would go along. But then her cell phone rang. The babysitter had to leave. It looked like I was on my own.

  I PARKED THE GREENMOBILE AT THE BOOKSTORE and walked over to the Cottage Shoppe. As I went inside, I noticed a contractor’s truck parked out front. A man in jeans and a white tee shirt was walking around the dining room, holding a clipboard and a tape measure. I recognized the footwear from the day I’d been under the desk. It was interesting to see the rest of Mr. Work Boots. I did a double take when I got to his head.
It was shaved bald. Was he the illusive bald shopper? I looked closer and realized the man with the Harrods bag had been considerably taller.

  I glanced toward the stairway, but there was no way I could sneak up there right now. Kevin was fidgeting around in the dining room and would have a clear view of me on the stairs. Though the tables and chairs had been stacked against the wall, the bar was still functional. Kevin took the lid off a large pot sitting on some kind of warming device. The smell was delicious enough to make my mouth water. When he saw me he offered me a sample.

  The man definitely had a way with soup, and the taste lived up to the smell. His samples were generous, too. None of those little cups they give you for water at the dentist. He used coffee cups and provided a spoon. It was some kind of vegetable stew, thick with mini ears of corn and mushrooms and every vegetable I could think of simmering in a flavorful broth. There were also thick slices of sourdough bread and a bowl of foil-wrapped butter pieces.

  “We’re doing mostly a to-go business now,” he said. “But when we finish the expansion it will be very pleasant to eat here.” He was all smiles now. I wondered what he’d fought with his brother about and thought of trying to ask him about it. But before I could come up with a strategy, he excused himself and went looking for Mr. Work Boots, who had disappeared into the kitchen. I considered making my run for upstairs then, but someone called to me from the living room area.

  “Mrs. Pink, is there anything I can help you find?” Dorothy said. She didn’t wait for an answer, instead launching into an explanation about how due to the remodel, the consignment items were being rearranged. I was surprised to see Dorothy wasn’t alone and even more surprised when I realized who was with her. So, Trina had come back to work after all. Her dark red hair was done in a stiff style that didn’t move as she bent to gather a creamy beige poncho off a chair and put it on the shelf of one of the three lawyers’ bookcases with lighted interiors. These had been moved against the wall, apparently to be used as display cases.

  All the living room furniture had been moved out except for one of the rockers in front of the fireplace.

  Trina appeared very tense. She kept looking over her shoulder and dropping things. It was lucky she was moving unbreakable items. She dropped one scarf, then another. I went to help retrieve them, though not without feeling up the yarn. I recognized the even rows as knitting. Something about the color and style reminded me of the knitted small blanket I’d admired the other day, and I figured it was probably made by the same person. I looked at the tag thinking it might have the name of the artisan, but there was just a bar code.

  Dorothy saw me staring at the black lines. “That was one of Mr. Drew’s brilliant ideas. The way his aunt did things wasn’t good enough for him. He didn’t seem to care that she had run a successful business for years by keeping written records of who brought in stuff and how much it sold for. He wanted everything computerized and had begun transferring over to using bar codes to keep track of things.” She glanced toward the torn-up dining room. Kevin was busy arranging the soup things. “That man is a soup maniac. Well, he finally is going to get his way.”

  On a hunch I asked her if that was what the two brothers fought about, and she nodded.

  “Mr. Kevin wanted to make this place more restaurant and less consignment shop, but other than computerizing things, Mr. Drew didn’t want to spend any money on the place.”

  “Was there any money to spend?” I asked.

  Dorothy checked that no one was listening. “Sure. Mrs. Brooks owned the land and building. Do you have any idea what this lot on Ventura Boulevard is worth? I heard that the first thing the brothers did was take out a large loan on the place. Mr. Kevin wanted to use the money to make some changes to the place so the restaurant area would be bigger. I think Mr. Drew just wanted to pocket the money, even though he claimed to he was going to use it to create an Internet business. I mean, how much can a Web site cost?”

  Two women came in and said they were looking for new baby gifts. All I needed was for Dorothy to get occupied helping them and I’d get my chance to run upstairs. Trina was no threat. She seemed lost in her own world and probably wouldn’t have noticed me on the stairs if she was staring right at me. But instead of assisting the customers, Dorothy just pointed them to a box of things she was in the process of putting in the case. The women moved over and began to unfold blankets and tiny sweaters, discussing their merits among themselves.

  Suddenly Trina flopped in the rocking chair with a loud sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” she lamented. “I keep seeing poor Mr. Drew with his head in the tomato soup.” She started getting worked up just thinking about it, and all the upset led to a case of the hiccups, which she explained, between the clacky noises, was what happened when she got upset. Dorothy noticed the shoppers’ uneasy reaction to Trina’s outburst, and in an effort to save the sale finally walked over to help them.

  Realizing this was my golden opportunity, I offered to get Trina some water. I didn’t mention I planned to import it from the upstairs bathroom.

  “Would you do that? I think it will help.” She got through the first sentence hiccup free, but then every other word was cut in two as she gave directions about the temperature the water should be. I was in the entrance hall when she got to the part about wanting the water in a blue glass as it gave off the right kind of vibrations.

  Since Dorothy was busy with the baby-gift hunters and Kevin was tied up in the kitchen with the contractor, I headed for the stairs. Now there was a chain across them with a sign that said “Employees Only.” I had one foot over the chain when a voice startled me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turned and saw it was Dorothy. Her expression had changed to a scowl. “Going past that chain is trespassing.”

  I muttered something about getting Trina a glass of water, as I tried to step back over the chain. Unfortunately, my foot caught on it and I fell on my butt with a loud thud. I had a bad feeling the loudness of the noise was directly proportional to the size of my butt, but this was hardly the time to worry about that.

  Kevin and Mr. Work Boots responded to the noise, and when they saw me on the floor with my foot caught in the chain, Mr. Work Boots untangled me and Kevin helped me up. His usual pleasant demeanor had gone dark. He pointed at the sign.

  “Can’t you read?” Then he seemed to catch himself and his tone softened. “I’m sorry, but the upstairs is off-limits for customers. We’ve had some problems with people wandering up there.”

  I really wanted to ask him for more details, like was the person he saw before with the black slacks a woman or man? As if there was any chance he would answer. Instead I just gave him the Trina hiccup story. “And with all your remodeling, I didn’t know if there was any place to get water down here,” I said, wearing my best innocent expression.

  As I got up, Trina came in. To my relief, she still had the hiccups, which gave credibility to my story about looking for a glass of water. Then Mr. Work Boots whispered something to Kevin, after which he became very solicitous, wanting to make sure I wasn’t hurt. I assumed Mr. Work Boots had brought up the possibility of a lawsuit. I assured Kevin the only thing injured was my pride. After that I had only one option: leave. It looked as though my first chance at snooping was going to be my only chance. At least I had the hanky. Now to find out what it meant.

  CHAPTER 14

  AS SOON AS I GOT BACK TO THE BOOKSTORE, I set up for Romance Night and then headed for home. I called Dinah on my cell as I drove.

  “It’s me,” I said when she answered the phone. “There’s good news and bad news.”

  There was a pause before she responded. “Could you hang on a second?” I heard her tell someone to go talk to their father. There was a kid’s voice and then a male voice. The voices got softer, and I assumed Dinah was taking the cordless into another room.

  “Sorry,” Dinah said softly. “Jeremy finally got back, and I was trying to impress upon him that Ashley-
Angela and E. Conner are his kids and his responsibility. It’s not going well.”

  In the background I heard the plaintive voices of both kids now wanting something from Dinah. Her voice went away from the phone, but I still could hear her as she sent them back to their father. Dinah rejoined our conversation. “That man is impossible. And no matter what I say to the kids about going to their father for stuff, they keep coming to me.” Dinah let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

  “Okay, what’s the bad news?” she asked. It was our little game. Whenever we did the good-news-bad-news thing, we always went for the bad news first to get it out of the way.

  I told her I had gotten caught before I could get upstairs at the Cottage Shoppe.

  “And the good news?”

  “I talked my way out of it, and I got some information that makes somebody besides Sheila look guilty.”

  “Okay, spill,” she said. “Anything to get my mind off what’s going on here.”

  I repeated what Dorothy had said about the money the brothers had borrowed on the building and how their arguments were over their two different plans for the store.

  “People have killed for less,” Dinah said. “It sounds like the only way Kevin was going to get his soup emporium was if his brother was out of the way. Kevin must have brought the tomato bisque up to him. Maybe Drew’s head being in the soup was more than a coincidence; maybe it was his attempt at poetic irony. Drew wouldn’t agree to the soup, and so it became the cause of his death.”

  “But I’m not sure how the hanky fits in,” I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I searched my purse for the house keys. I crossed my yard and opened the back door. Cosmo flew out and started running around the trees. Blondie did a little happy-to-see-me dance and then went out after Cosmo. He was certainly bringing her out of her shell.